


Imperial Naming Traditions, and Associated Activities Thereof.

by Westbrook



Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Childbirth, F/M, Inheritance, Royalty, impending parenthood, naming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-17
Updated: 2014-10-17
Packaged: 2018-02-21 12:18:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2468051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Westbrook/pseuds/Westbrook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gregor and Laisa discuss a name for the Crown Prince of Barrayar, naming traditions, and finally celebrate the big day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Imperial Naming Traditions, and Associated Activities Thereof.

**Author's Note:**

> So, originally, this fic was just the naming of the Crown Prince, with a bit of historical exploration and my ideas about the Imperial name tradition and some set-up for other things thrown in. But, as seems to happen with all of my fics, this one grew, adding much Gregor/Laisa being married and romance and ideas about parenthood, and....sigh. A lot. 
> 
> Anyways, I'm reasonably pleased with this fic, and I hope that you like it as well! Enjoy your reading!
> 
> Gregor Vorbarra, Laisa Toscane Vorbarra, and all other associated characters within the Vorkosigan Saga are rightfully the property of Lois McMaster Bujold, who is a much better writer than I ever shall be. I own nothing, please don't set the lawyers on me!

There was a pile of-books was the wrong term here, she had decided. _Tomes_ , yes, that was right, a pile of tomes occupying the short table in the center of the living room, delivered by a set of librarians from the Imperial Archives.

 

_And all of this for baby names!_

 

Doctor Laisa Toscane Vorbarra, Empress of Barrayar, blew out a sigh, staring dejectedly at the large collection of leather and paper before her. This would be one of the most important things accompanying that **_most_** important thing: The birth of the Imperial Heir.

 

Gregor had insisted on six months of marriage before he and Laisa began their first child, six months in which they could settle into themselves and Laisa could settle into her new role as Empress. The assorted nerves of the many interested parties-the people, the Counts, the military, the varied successors to Gregor, even friends and family, to produce an heir-had started to wear on him, to the point where he had nearly issued a public Official Imperial Decree stating that he, Gregor, would have an heir in due time, and everyone would calm down, or they would be shipped to the center of the nearest supernova.

 

Now, though, their son-her _son,_ Gregor’s and hers-was in his third month of replicator gestation, and Lady Alys had sent over this miniature archive to determine the name of the Crown Prince.  Laisa thought that she might need a good deal of wine to get through this task.

 

“Have you robbed a library?” came a dry voice, laced with amusement, and Laisa felt her heart thrill as she turned, a smile automatically springing to her face.

 

Gregor swept in, shedding aides and bodyguards as he did the Imperial Aura that surrounded him, the Emperor disappearing to leave only the man. A faint smile lit both his face and eyes as the door closed behind him, leaving them alone. Gregor immediately walked over to her, bending down for a long, lingering kiss, and Laisa forgot everything but this wonderful man for a brief while.

 

After they reluctantly pulled apart, Laisa answered, a little breathless, “Homework from Lady Alys. Apparently, we need to begin discussing baby names.”

 

“Ah,” Gregor said shortly. “Well, that seems like it will take up some time. Something to drink?”

 

“Wine please,” Laisa replied, delighted that he could read her so well. Gregor grinned for a moment, running his hand along her neck, before walking over to the drinks cart, and pouring her a glass, adding one for himself.

 

Laisa knew that today had been a fairly normal day for Gregor, work wise. A number of ceremonial events, a briefing with Lord Auditor Vorkalloner on his ongoing case, individual meetings with Prime Minister Racozy, Minister of State Vorob’yev, Chief General Allegre, and the Minister of the Interior, a group meeting with the Minister of the South and the Committee for Land Distribution relating to the South Continent, various District matters, and a private lunch with René Vorbretten in his role as Count Vorbretten, in addition to the normal amount of paperwork he did everyday.

Laisa herself had had meetings with the Countesses Vorellias and Vorsennett, and Countess Vorgorov, tea with Countess Rita Vorvolk, a vid conference with her charity director, lunch with Lady Alys, sat in on a briefing with the Ministers of Trade and Finance relating to economic issues, ran the monthly meeting regarding the personal Vorbarra properties, finances and investments (Laisa had been shocked when Gregor had given that portfolio to her, telling her as he did so, “It’s traditional for a Countess to deal with these sorts of things, and you’ve a better head for business than I ever will Laisa, you’re the perfect person to handle these.”).

Laisa had also attended a few of the ceremonial events Gregor had presided over, as well as co-heading the weekly Residence and District Affairs Briefing together, but those were in their capacity as Emperor and Empress, and as such they were confined to their public personas.

 

Here though…Here they could just be Gregor and Laisa, without the full weight of their Imperial roles on them at all times.

Laisa smiled as Gregor handed her wine, sitting next to her and snuggling in. “So,” Gregor said after they’d become comfortable, gesturing toward the tomes on the table with his glass, “any thoughts?”

 

Laisa, drinking, took a moment to swallow. “It seems extra complicated that we have to pick out a name, and all that goes with it. The Counts seem to have it easier, with the first name being the paternal grandfather and the second the maternal grandfather.”

Gregor went still beside her, and Laisa wanted to smack herself and apologize for bringing his father into their happy moment. 

One of the benefits of growing up on Komarr, as a member of _those_ Toscanes, was a galactic-level education, exposure to all kinds of cultures, and a relatively unbiased look at galactic affairs. This included stories of Barrayar’s lost Crown Prince that were not filtered through the lenses of the Barrayaran media and Imperial Security. While Laisa hadn’t paid the most attention to these stories, history not exactly being her strong suit or one of her passions, she was aware of them, and so not as shocked as some would be when the truth was finally laid out for her. But even the unbiased version as given on Komarr was in no way the whole of the story.

Laisa had been briefed, by Lady Alys, by Simon Illyan, to a lesser extent by Miles, but most of all by Aral and Cordelia Vorkosigan, not to mention a long, draining and thoroughly difficult conversation with Gregor himself, as to exactly what type of man Prince Serg Vorbarra had truly been. The valiant war hero who died at Escobar had merely been a public cover for the private appearance of the vicious, murderous, depraved sadist. Laisa had been shocked to learn that there was a great deal of truth behind the rumors and stories, and the concrete details that she had been given or managed to ferret out were sickening.

 

“I actually know quite a bit about this,” Gregor said contemplatively, swirling his wine in his glass and relaxing by degrees. “I did some research a few years ago after….” He paused, and took a drink. “Well, anyways, the Vorbarra line, since they were proclaimed as Emperor, took the idea of being ‘primus inter pares’-First among equals, with emphasis on the first. So instead of following the so-called lesser Vor pattern of masculine naming, as Emperors they would each have a unique identifier, probably so that their achievements of glory didn’t get mixed up with anyone else’s.”

 

Laisa snickered at this. Gregor’s lips twitched, and he took a sip of wine before continuing, “So, Rasputin Barra, who became known as Rasputin Vorbarra, the first and founding Emperor of Barrayar, either himself decided-or his supporters decided for him, the history is unclear-that he should be the only person to bear that name as Emperor. His son, Pavel Vorbarra, agreed for a number of reasons, and so named his own son Phillippe, and because anything done twice on Barrayar is tradition, so it became for all future House Vorbarra heirs.”

Laisa smiled at this, and toasted the air. “To tradition!” Gregor huffed out a laugh, and chimed his glass against hers. “To tradition,” he murmured. They both drank for a moment, staring at the pile of books. After a while, his thumb stroking absent circles on Laisa’s skin, Gregor said “Of course, because those names are popular, or someone within the family was angling for favor from the Emperor, some Emperor’s names get recycled. Usually it was given by daughters to their sons, as there wasn’t much chance of them ascending to the throne, or a Prince’s youngest child if he had quite a few, but there has been the occasional repeat. Those tend to happen after deaths or disinheritances, that sort of thing, and they get either a number or a nickname that distinguishes them.”

 

“Oh? Like who?” Laisa asked, fascinated by this bit of Barrayaran history, and enjoying listening to her husband speak.

“Dorca Vorbarra himself for one,” Gregor said, and then grinned at Laisa’s expression. “You didn’t know that?” Laisa looked sourly at her husband, stating, “Of course not! That was never covered by Lady Alys in any of her etiquette lessons, and the Imperial naming traditions of Barrayaran history have never exactly been an interest of mine.” Gregor said nothing, but his eyes danced with laughter, which caused Laisa to huff and take a large swallow of her wine. “So tell me about Dorca,” she said after a moment. “Which one?” Gregor asked, so politely and Imperial that Laisa had to thump him on the chest. “The first one!” “Careful, that was an assault on the Presence,” Gregor said, the laughter having moved to his voice by now. “Your Presence can bear an assault from your wife,” Laisa retorted, drawing on all of her skills as a lobbyist and the Toscane heiress to sound just as haughty as he had a moment ago. Gregor chuckled and leaned down to kiss her, softly and slowly, for what seemed like an endless moment. When he pulled away, reluctantly, the two of them spent a moment smiling at each other, before Gregor put on a lordly face and tone, and said, “Now, where were we? Oh yes, Imperial naming traditions and the first Dorca.” Laisa sighed and rolled her eyes. “The reason that the first Dorca is often ignored is that nothing really happened during his reign. He ascended to the camp stool with a minimum of controversy and bloodshed, reigned fairly quietly for around ten years, and died without major scandal or incident, leaving the Empire to his oldest son. His name came down the line, where it was chosen by the Princess Victoria Vorbarra, daughter of the Emperor Stefan Vorbarra, for her eldest son by Lord Vordarian, the brother of the then-Count. That son then used his mother’s blood and his father’s connections to rise high in the military ranks, claim the camp stool, break the power of the independent Counts and forge together a united Empire, becoming known as Dorca Vorbarra the Just!” This last bit was delivered in such a ringing tone that resembled old holodrama presenters and Miles that Laisa had to clap, very carefully, that she did not spill her wine.

“Well done milord!” “Thank you milady,” Gregor smirked in reply, and the two of them grinned at each other. After a while of companionable silence, Gregor said, contemplatively, “It’s funny, really, that whenever someone refers to Dorca, we automatically know who they mean-how can the name refer to someone else ?-and we utterly forget that someone else ruled with that name. I never know whether or not to feel sorry for the first Dorca for being overshadowed, or grateful that he was forgotten, or at least surpassed, by his namesake.”

“Mmmm,” Laisa murmured, thoughtfully “Thinking of your own posterity, my love? The day when Gregor the Second will be known as Gregor the Great, and you’ll just be a footnote to history?”

“God I hope so!” Gregor replied, quietly, but fervently.

 

Laisa, sensing that they were venturing out onto dangerous territory, tried to bring it back to a lighter note by asking, “So were there other Emperors who were named after their predecessors?”

“A few.” “Any I should know about?”

“Well, there were two Emperors Ivan Vorbarra. The first Ivan was fairly young when he came to rule, and he didn’t have any issue when he died, so his younger brother Priam Vorbarra took the camp stool, and named his first son Ivan in honor of his elder brother.” “What were they nicknamed?” “The one who died was Ivan the First, or Ivan the Childless. The second was officially called Ivan II or Ivan the Second, but he was mostly known by two nicknames, the first being Ivan the Hairless. He went bald quite early, and rather than attempt to cover it up, Ivan, who was not known for doing things halfway, simply shaved his head. Apparently it was quite a scandal, as the bald can’t give hair for offerings. Emperor Ivan apparently saw a way around this by growing a magnificent beard, and using those hairs for his offerings, leading him to more commonly be called Ivan the Bearded.”

 

Laisa had started giggling when Gregor had spoke of the second Ivan’s nickname, and was outright laughing at the end. Gregor smiled indulgently at her amusement, before the smile disappeared, and he looked into his glass.

Laisa felt his body tense, and immediately asked, “Gregor love, what’s the matter?”

Gregor shook his head, giving her a brief, pained smile, before turning his attention back to his wineglass, swirling it again for a moment before taking a sip. Laisa knew enough to outwait him. Finally, Gregor sighed and said quietly, “There’s also a tradition that a Crown Prince who died without assuming the throne may have his name recycled. And I’m worried that the Council of Counts might insist that our son….”

“Oh,” was the only thing Laisa could say to that. Laisa knew the depths of Gregor’s feelings toward his father, and knew that if he could, Gregor would make it an Imperial Order for the name Serg to never be used by the Vorbarra line again, but that would raise questions as to _why,_ which would be quite bad.

 

“Gregor, my love,” Laisa said softly, placing her wine down on the table and reaching up to grasp her husband’s face. “I am going to say something, something quite radical, something that I may have to say again, but only I can say it, and I want you to listen very closely.”

Gregor nodded, staring into Laisa’s eyes, as she took a deep breath, and said sweetly, softly, clearly:

 

“Fuck the Counts.”

 

Gregor goggled at her, mouth slightly open. “What?”

 

“You heard me Gregor. Fuck the Counts. They don’t matter, the people don’t matter. What matters, right here and now, my love, are you and I and our son. _Our_ son, not anyone else’s, and what we choose to name him. If we decide to name him Lawrence, they will suck it up and deal, because it will be _our_ choice.”

Gregor looked stunned, and not a little awed-He’d never seen Laisa go off like this. He paused for a moment, taking a drink of his wine, before glancing back at Laisa with a raised eyebrow, his composure firmly replaced. “Lawrence?” Laisa flushed most attractively. “He was one of my classmates from business school, possibly one of the most boring men I’ve ever met. But quite intelligent, and he knew numbers and economics like breathing.” 

 

Gregor chuckled slightly, and Laisa smiled in return. “Gregor, we give enough of ourselves to Barrayar, and I can’t imagine what our children will be asked to give. If you want to name our son after your father because you think he can redeem it, that’s completely acceptable. If you want to not give him that name, that’s perfectly acceptable as well.”

Gregor was silent for a moment, staring at his wine, and Laisa waited patiently.

“I thought…once…” her husband started to say, slowly, haltingly. Gregor stared into the air, and shook his head. “I thought that I might name my son Aral.” Laisa felt her heart clench a little at this. But then Gregor shook his head again. “Now though, with Komarr, I think that it would be an issue-”

“Gregor, what did I just say?” Laisa interrupted. “The people don’t matter. Do you think that I was joking when I said that whatever name we chose, that would be it? I know that there would be an outcry from Komarr, though Barrayar and Sergyar wouldn’t give a damn.”

“I can’t ignore political consequences, Laisa,” Gregor said, not yet stiff, but growing that way-Even now, even with her, he sometimes retreated into the shell of propriety that was his public defense mode, but these occasions were rare. “And naming my son after the Butcher of Komarr” (The name was given a distinctly ironic twist, Laisa noted), “is a recipe for disaster.” “Gregor, if you want to name our son after Count Aral…. I wouldn’t mind,” Laisa said softly, and Gregor’s eyes turned to her sharply. “Count Aral (Laisa had found this to be the easiest title to refer to Gregor’s foster-father, her father-in-law by extension) was your father in basically every respect save biologically, in every way that mattered. If you would want to honor him in that way, than we can talk about doing that.” There was a moment of silence. Gregor stared at her for a moment, before looking away, focusing on the pile of leather and paper on the table. Laisa waited for him to speak.

After a moment, Gregor shook his head and looked at her with such naked love and adoration in his eyes that Laisa felt her own fill with tears. “How was I so lucky to find you, Laisa? To have you love me, and all that comes with me, or in spite of it….. You’re a blessing.”

Laisa smiled back at him, sniffing slightly, and started to reach up to wipe the tears from her eyes, only to have Gregor set down his wineglass and reach up, to brush them gently away from her eyes with his thumbs, gently kissing her eyelids afterwards and ending with a long, slow, deliciously warm kiss on her mouth afterwards. As he pulled away, Laisa noticed that he was as breathless as she, his pupils expanded to fill most of his eyes. Without a further word, Gregor took Laisa’s hand, and led her to the bedroom, where they were occupied for quite some time.

 

Later, lying tangled together, basking in the afterglow, Laisa couldn’t help but start giggling, which caused Gregor to stare at her like she had lost her mind. “What?” “I was just thinking that we never got started on Lady Alys’ homework!”  Gregor burst out into chuckles which set Laisa off as well, and it was a bit of time later before the two of them could talk. “Well, Lady Alys and her homework will just have to wait until the morning,” Gregor stated, pulling Laisa close and planting a pair of kisses on her forehead and lips. “After all, we have another six months to talk about it, don’t we?”

Laisa nodded in agreement, and kissed her husband again, which led to all sorts of interesting things.

 

* * *

 

 

Six months later, three worlds held their breath as the Crown Prince was to be taken from his replicator, and presented, first to friends and family of the parents (Who would also provide confirmation that the child was indeed the Emperor’s, as there had been some chicanery with baby-swapping in Barrayar’s history), and later to the public and then, after a month, to an official gathering of the Council of Counts for confirmation as Lord Vorbarra and heir to the Imperium.

 

But this time was for family and friends alone, to be gathered, not only as witnesses to the authenticity of the heir, but in celebration, not only of the security of the Imperial line and thus the Empire, but for Gregor and Laisa as well, to celebrate their lives as parents, the new life that they had made.

 

The Vorkosigans were assembled-Aral and Cordelia, Miles and Ekaterin, Mark and Kareen (And Gregor would have to admit that it did hurt, having his mother’s namesake to see the birth of his son, but not his mother)-along with Lady Alys, Simon Illyan and Ivan; Kou & Drou Koudelka, and Duv and Delia Galeni. Count Henri Vorvolk and his Countess Rita, Gregor’s Vorinnis uncle, Laisa’s parents from Komarr, ready for the birth of their first grandchild, and Siobhan Delaney, Laisa’s best friend who had served as her Second at the Wedding (and member of a powerful, prominent, Komarran banking clan) rounded out the series of family and friends. Also present were Prime Minister Racozy and his wife, and General Guy Allegre, Chief of Imperial Security, who was nearly frantic with worry. Outside, waiting eagerly, tens of thousands of subjects, desiring to be near during this most historic of occasions, filled the Great Square.

 

Gregor and Laisa walked to the nursery where their guests awaited them, hand in hand, flanked by Vorbarra armsmen, two of whom were already assigned to the uterine replicator and soon to the Crown Prince.

The two of them had been debating names for the six months it had taken to come to this moment, batting them back and forth like a polo ball. Names from Barrayaran history, Komarran history, names of rulers from the past of distant Earth-all had been discussed.  But ultimately, finally, they had settled on one that was perfect-a name that had respect and honor in the galactic community at large, a name that resonated in Barrayar’s history (Gregor had pondered a Komarran name for his firstborn, but Laisa had pointed out, quite sensibly, that such a name could be provided for their next son, that their eldest needed a Barrayaran name to assuage the conservatives, and lastly that the Toscane surname would soon be attached to the Imperial Vorbarra name anyways, meaning that no one could forget the heritage of the soon-to-be Crown Prince), about a month ago. Gregor had insisted on adding on one thing, after some very long discussions with Laisa, but since they were changing tradition anyways, it had might as well be changed full-force; and damn the plasma cannons.

 

As the Emperor and Empress approached the nursery, they glanced at each other one last time, smiled briefly, and swept in, to the assorted genuflections and greetings of their gathered friends and family. The two of them circled the room, making sure to greet everyone, until a brief cough from the doctor informed them all that it was officially time. Gregor and Laisa turned to the room at-large, nodded at them all and then at each other, before stepping behind the curtain of the replicator alcove.

 

In the small alcove set up specifically for this purpose, Barrayar’s top obstetrician and his assistant, two nurses and a pair of techs waited to perform their duties; none of them could hide their awe and amazement at being included, however tangentially, in this historic moment. As Gregor and Laisa stepped in, they all bowed or curtsied, and moved to the side, granting the family as much privacy as was humanly possible for the Emperor and Empress of Barrayar.

 

The replicator was perched on the table, humming quietly, such an innocuous thing to contain such an enormous change. Inside their son squirmed, eager for the world outside, and Gregor found himself intensely aware of everything around him-the feel of air rushing in and out of his lungs as he tried to take slow, deep calming breaths, the thunder of his heart against his ribs and in his ears, the smooth grains of the table under his fingers as he ran his fingers along it, the curved metal of the latch of the replicator, the bright gleam in Laisa’s eyes across from him that he was sure matched his own-as though ensuring that this memory would be seared onto his very soul, undimming, even to the end of him..

 

“On three?” Gregor suggested quietly, and Laisa nodded, a grin flashing across her face.

 

“One,” Gregor said, and thought, for a moment, about all of the work that had gone into this moment, all of the effort, all of the blood and tears shed; of the loss of his mother, his grandfather, and last and least, the loss of his own father.

 

“Two,” Gregor stated, and thought about himself, about all of the loneliness he had experienced in his life, all of the fear and depression and anxiety , and how much his life had changed, how full of joy he had become, how blessed he now was, and how that would be nothing compared to how he would be blessed in a few seconds.

 

“Three,” Gregor breathed, and as he lifted the latch, Laisa matching him, Gregor Vorbarra thought of Barrayar, of his Empire, and how eager she was to devour those who sought to master her, and he thought of his vow, sworn by his breath and sealed with his blood, that when the time came, he would hand to his son an Imperium that would not consume him, that he would grant them both the chance for growth and peace, and he would not fail.

 

The replicator opened with a hiss, and Gregor and Laisa stepped smoothly aside, coming together grip hands with an instinctive choreography as the doctor and nurses and techs moved in, moving aside tubing and wires, and slicing open the protective caul to remove a squirming, pink baby. Gregor found Laisa’s hands gripping his so hard it hurt, but found that he couldn’t care one whit; and when his son- _his SON!-_ let out his first strong, drawn-out cry, Gregor knew that there was likely no more amazing sound in the whole Nexus.

 

The baby was obscured for a moment, as the medical personnel moved in to clean up their Crown Prince, but soon Gregor and Laisa were motioned over to the table, where their son was being wrapped in a blanket in Vorbarra black-and-silver. The doctor handed the boy over to them with some words of congratulations, courtesies which Gregor returned automatically, his entire focus on the small being staring at him from his mother’s arms.

 

Their son was in possession of what seemed to be an abundance of dark hair, a strong voice, and his mother’s eyes. Gregor’s own eyes traced his features hungrily, fingers moving out to stroke swiftly, softly, butterfly light across his forehead, and then trace gently down the tiny face.

 

“We did it,” Gregor whispered glancing at Laisa, who was glowing like a sun, and who grinned at him with the light of stars in her smile. “I know,” she replied just as softly, leaning into kiss her husband tenderly on the lips, a careful motion so as not to disturb the baby. After breaking away from Gregor (who wanted time to stop, so that they could have this perfect moment forever), Laisa returned all of her focus to the child now staring up at her. “Hello, my love,” she murmured, gently repositioning her son so she could whisper into his ear, “welcome to the world. It’s a scary place, but you have my word that we will do our best to make it a better, less scary place for you. Welcome to Barrayar.”

 

That phrase brought Gregor’s other duties to mind, and he flicked a glance toward the curtain, where a large and anxious group of people were waiting. “Are you ready?” Gregor asked, gently touching Laisa’s shoulder and nodding toward the wider nursery. Laisa smiled wryly, and arching a brow, stated, “Not really, but our audience awaits.” Gregor grinned for a moment, squeezing her shoulder, before stepping to the curtain and sweeping it open.

 

The gazes of the assembled Witnesses were locked on him with the intensity of rangefinders, and Gregor almost wanted to look down at himself to see if there were red dots now clustered on his chest. But, smiling, he simply turned to Laisa and beckoned her forward. She stepped to his side, her rightful place, with their son in her arms, and if Gregor had thought their gazes intense before, it was nothing compared to the stares now directed at the tiny bundle in Laisa’s arms. There was a unified inhalation of breath, and several eyes moistened. Aware of all of this, but choosing to disregard it, Gregor wrapped his arm around Laisa, his fingers gently brushing across the top of his son’s head, his gaze locked on his family.  They stood together, Barrayar’s present and future in one unified group, for a timeless moment.

 

Gregor broke his regard of his wife and son to glance around the room one last time, before arching a brow at Laisa, who simply smiled at him and nodded slightly. Gregor then looked up and statied calmly,

 “Allow Us to present Our son, Crown Prince Xav Aral Toscane Vorbarra.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments, concerns, questions, feedback and kudoses (kudosii?) are, as always, welcomed and appreciated! I will do my best to respond promptly! Thanks again!


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